


Satellite

by flayrie



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Summaries, It's Hard and Nobody Understands, Memory Loss, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:54:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22651351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flayrie/pseuds/flayrie
Summary: An assassination attempt puts Relena in cryosleep to heal. Distraught at failing in his duties, Heero volunteers to be put into cryosleep as well. They awaken at an indeterminate time as Heero tends to her recovery, unsure about what lies outside their bunker once they muster the strength to venture out.
Relationships: Relena Peacecraft/Heero Yuy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 41





	Satellite

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in almost a decade so bear with me.

****DAY 1: RELENA** **

Swimming. She was trying to come back to herself, head awash with lights and sound muffled by the warmth of sleep suspending her body. Bitterness overwhelmed her mouth, stale with time and acrid rot.

_Water. I need…_

Her voice stuck in her throat, lips unmoving. Her eyelids refused her urge to open them, pushing her deeper into the dark. She was parched, drowning in a desert, sandpaper tongue tracing the back of her teeth.

_Please._

What was she begging for? To whom did she send this entreaty? Sounds began to float to the surface, teasing at her ear with a dull electrical hum. A chill ran down her spine as the blanket of sleep eased its grip, permitting a groan from her ravaged throat.

Footsteps. Scattered footsteps drew close as she felt control of her body return, eyes fluttering to a flash of light before plunging her back into darkness. The warmth of a solid body pulled her into its arms, burying her head in the crook of its neck.

_So warm._

Shudders ran through the body holding hers; they were shaking.

_Pleading._

“I'm here,” they murmured, deep and solemn, rocking her like a child.

She was going to be sick. Bile and acid began to creep up her throat, making her cough, forcing her eyes open with a start as foul black liquid surged from her lips and onto her caretaker. Tears clouded her eyes as sterile fluorescent light flooded her line of sight.

And yet they still held her. She clutched for something in the brightness, catching the fabric of their shirt as the last of the bile left her body. They took her by the shoulders, laying her back down against the softness of the bed she had just risen from

_Focus. Come into focus._

With a rough hand, they lifted her chin with utmost care, rubbing foul spittle from the corner of her mouth with their thumb. It was then that their eyes met hers; sunken blue eyes set in a pallid face under a pair of thick furrowed brows. A sharp nose. Thin chapped lips that betrayed some bleeding. He had a head of tousled brown hair, short and messy like he had cut it himself. On the whole, he had a hungry frame wrapped in a white linen hospital gown covered in her vomit. A mess of a young man.

_Familiar._

With a grunt, he pulled back and stood, sweeping a hand under the bed to grab a bedpan, aluminum meeting linoleum floors with a clang. He lay it on her lap before walking to the corner of the room, making her strain to arch her neck and see what he was up to. The glint of a metal sink caught her eye as she heard him turning the spigot, pouring water into a cup. It made her all too aware of the nagging pain in her throat, and the persistent acidic aftertaste of an empty stomach in revolt.

“Drink.”

When had he closed the distance?

The paper cup's rim was cool against her lips as she lifted her head and attempted a sip. Still, as much of a relief as it was on her tongue, it only aggravated the remaining aftertaste of vomit. With another wave of nausea coming on, she reached for the bedpan to spit, holding back the urge to retch.

“Get it all out,” he instructed in a measured tone. “Sip and spit.”

She threw him a glare, still struggling to form words in her condition. Having no choice but to comply, she did as she was told, trying not to stare too hard at the faint swirls of red in the water as it dribbled from her mouth. They carried on the routine for a good few minutes, her eyes following him each time he brought her a new cup of water.

“Do you think you can keep it down now?”

Flat. Clinical. His bedside manner bordered on mechanical, never wasting a single motion as he tended to her. Her stiff neck protested the slight nod she offered him in response, prompting her to wince. If he noticed, he paid it no mind, holding the cup to her lips yet again. Icy water coursed down her throat, pooling in her empty stomach. She shuddered as pain shot through her belly, sharp and cold. Clearing her throat, she attempted to speak before he rose to get another cup.

“Enough.”

Scratchy. Hoarse. It was more of an unintelligible croak than a word. For a fleeting second, he raised an eyebrow at her before schooling his face back into a mask of indifference.

“I’ll go get cleaned up then,” he muttered, avoiding her eyes as he rose from the foot of her bed, taking the bed pan with him. The back of his hospital gown was a crime scene, white splattered with blackish red from when he held her.

Though her throat protested, she forced out her question with a rasp: “How do I know you?”

He froze just as his fingers poised over, what appeared to be, a keypad on the wall.

“We met at a birthday party,” he muttered, looking over his shoulder and forcing a smirk that looked almost pained. “It was a long time ago.”

Without missing a beat, he turned back to the keypad, each button beeping as he pushed, before an electrical trill confirmed his code. The wall began to whisper against its track, retreating to the side.

_A hidden door?_

“If you need me, there’s a remote by your bed. Just push the ‘call’ button.”

_Wait…_

The door had already hissed shut behind him before she could even will herself to sit up.

****AUGUST AC200: LADY UNE** **

“She’s dismissed you.”

It was all so matter-of-fact. Bureaucratic nonsense. Lady Une sat at her desk, arms crossed, staring daggers at a man who might have been weak in the knees had he been anyone else. She was a woman of many masks, always ready with the right persona for any tense situation. Out of uniform, no one offered her a second glace. She was almost made for fading into the background: slender with big brown eyes, a dainty nose, and chestnut hair.

Almost.

There was still steam rising from the mug stained at the rim with her signature shade of lipstick. Appearances were important, and she treated her face like a canvas for war paint. Perhaps she shouldn’t have gone so minimalist today. Or maybe she should have gone rougher. More natural. Would he have been less of a pest if she was more haggard? It was likely irrelevant when faced with the matter at hand. Present company couldn’t be turned on his head.

Neither her charm nor menace would faze Heero Yuy. Why else did he think he could barge into her office like a bull in a china shop?

“Then undismiss me.”

“I am not about to put the whims of one agent over the safety of the public. Carry on speaking out of turn and I’ll have you removed, Yuy.”

By his bearing, she could tell he wanted to be less than cordial. The slight twitch in his fingers betrayed an urge to ball his hands into fists. At least he knew better than to try it.

“Then would you _please_ release the file detailing why my post was terminated?”

There was a sharp edge to that politesse, venom gilding the blade. He asked through gritted teeth, trying to glare a hole right through her.

“Fill out the proper forms and I might be moved to honor your request.”

They both knew that was a lie as soon as it left her lips. Pointless busywork to keep him from prodding.

“That won’t work for me.”

_And you won’t work for me much longer if you keep this up._

She bit her tongue, weighing the options on the table. If she refused his request outright, he was likely to just go rogue or worse.

“I may have a posting adjacent to your interests,” she countered. “While the vice foreign minister may have dismissed you, she set no specifications about your presence acting in other capacities. I do warn you that these duties will be dull to the point of dread, and you must accept before I offer any details. Will you agree to these terms?”

It was far from a sweet deal but she could see the gears turning in his head. After all, he wasn’t above just filing for leave if an assigned mission didn’t suit his fancy.

“It’s being on your security detail, isn’t it?”

She had to fight the urge to feign a gasp. Too patronizing.

“Now, where did you get that idea?”

“Dull to the point of dread,” he spat. “You put Duo through that wringer and he made sure everybody knew. Endless socials and fundraisers.”

“The same circles all politicians move in,” Une nodded. “And I can take care of myself just fine. Having security detail is just red tape. You understand where this is going, yes?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

****DAY 6: HEERO** **

According to the clock and the notches carved into the peeling paint on the wall, he’d been up and about for almost a week. His cryochamber was set to release in tandem with Relena’s, waking him in time to tend to her once ZERO decided she was fit to awaken. He’d risen gasping and cold, struggling to pull himself out of the chill. The next few hours were a haze: activating the motion sensor lights and heating as he crawled to the supply closet, wrapping himself in a sterile hospital gown, curling up into a ball on the floor as he ran through his last point of human contact before stasis.

_She may not wake up without your help. You’re going in healthy while we’re putting her in on the brink of death._

That’s right. Her chamber had been open when he got to it.

_You have to be ready for the worst case scenario. Rot sets in if these systems fail._

His heart was still in his throat from back then. It would have been too much to bear seeing her face collapsed to bone and dust, offering no respite for the years he offered up to oblivion. Six days ago, he’d peered in and sobbed before he could stop himself. Her body had been intact and a faint pulse thrummed through her wrist when he’d grabbed it.

_The bunker will have an infirmary hidden in the walls. I figured the code should be something even you could remember: 0407180._

Une was often insufferable but she had been right in that regard. With all his strength, he’d carried Relena’s body in, laying her down on the infirmary bed, checking her breathing and pulse, standing vigil until hunger demanded he find rations. Day in and day out, the same routine.

Until today.

The sound of a groan coming from the infirmary sent him running from the supply closet. Could this be it? He came upon her still in bed, though her sleep had turned fitful. There was a slight twitch to her fingers and her brows furrowed. In days passed, she could almost have been mistaken for a doll if not for the slow rise and fall of her chest betraying signs of life. She had been pale, long blonde hair fanned out on the pillow under her head just as he had lain her there. Now, hints of color were starting to return to her cheeks.

_Come back to me._

Her eyes opened in a flash of blue before rolling back into her head. He grabbed her and held her close, hoping that maybe his warmth might ease her into waking. Who knew how many years it had been since he’d last held her like this? They wouldn’t let him touch her when she fell to the crack of a sniper’s rifle.

_She had a vest on. She should have been fine._

_The bullet pierced through the neotitanium fiber, sending her careening backwards as she fell on stage. Her head hit the floor with a thud as Heero broke into a run, trying to swim through the crowd. If they’d shot her in the head, she would have been dead long before she hit the floor. If he was to live in a world where she no longer drew breath_ _—_

“I’m here,” he reassured her, rocking her against him as she began to cough. He should have been on that stage with her that day, watching in the wings to push her out of harm’s way. Instead, he had to watch her blood pooling on the stage floor as he stumbled through a sea of people stampeding for the exits.

Each cough shook her frail body with a new degree of magnitude, and he hoped against all odds that this was no death rattle. It wasn’t long until she was throwing up on him, sending a trail of vomit spilling down his back. He held her regardless, pulling her tighter as she clutched at him with every violent surge. Once she stilled, he lay her back down, contemplating how long he had waited to see her eyes staring back at him again.

Dark red bordering on black smeared her lips. He was warned that cryosleep wouldn’t necessarily put her in the clear. The report from the crime scene came back with a bullet that was meant to send a message.

_He was a skilled sniper. Could have landed a head shot if he wanted to. But his handlers told him they wanted her to die slow. The bullet’s laced with a radioactive Gundanium isotope._

They had to cut so much out of her when they tried to halt the poison corrupting her cells. Experimental nanites were injected into her system to try and repair the damage but it was spreading so fast. Day in and day out, she would wake up screaming until another round of sedatives kicked in. They only let him see her once back in those days. Her lips were stained that same shade then too.

Lifting her chin, he wiped the red away with his thumb as she looked up at him. There was a flicker of light in her eyes, hinting at consciousness rather than a vegetative state. It would be far too cruel for the world to leave him a shell of her after all this. But then, wouldn’t some part of him deserve it?

Right now, looking her in the eye hurt a bit too much. He distracted himself by grabbing a bedpan and fetching her some water. It wouldn’t exactly be easy breaking the ice after all this time. Better to be utilitarian and just tend to her.

“Drink,” he demanded in a tone that came out far harsher than he intended.

With a maelstrom brewing in him, it was hard not to shut it all down and revert to his training. He immediately regretted it as she started to retch again, spewing the water into the bedpan. Red swirled in the water droplets against the aluminum, hammering in the message from the bullet that took her down in the first place.

_Here’s your apology back._

The engraving was almost microscopic, but it had been clear as day on the ballistics report. Someone from the Noventa incident. Their hatred must have festered long after Heero had gone knocking on doors offering to pay with his life. Sylvia Noventa had gone out of her way to support Preventer so he doubted her involvement in this. Besides, she’d declined her shot a long time ago, refusing to humor cowardice. Hiring someone else to pull the trigger was vindictive cowardice by definition.

“Get it all out,” he urged her. “Sip and spit.”

She shot him a familiar glare, the same one she often used when older men talked over her at council meetings. That was all he needed to know that it would be best to carry on in silence. He refilled her cup as needed until the water she spat began to run clear.

“Do you think you can keep it down now?”

Try as he might to soften the edges of his voice, he still sounded stern at best. She nodded, wincing at having to move. His joints had all been pretty stiff, too, when he first woke up. This wasn’t the best time for commiserating though. He let her drink until she began to visibly recoil, shuddering as the water hit her stomach.

“Enough,” she croaked.

She sounded nothing like she used to, haggard and raspy. It was likely torture being unable to speak. Some time alone might help her regain her bearings, and keep the pressure off both of them when it came to filling the silence.

“I’ll go get cleaned up then.”

He made sure to grab the bedpan as he got up, trying to keep her as comfortable as possible. Just as he got to the keypad, she tried to speak again, growling out a question that pierced right through him.

“How do I know you?”

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been warned. She may not have been a rotted corpse or a vegetable but thinking she’d be in full possession of all her mental faculties was a fool’s hope. Before the cryotherapy, fevers had burned through her body, contorting her limbs even as they sedated her. The nanites had been to work during her hibernation but they couldn’t fix anything her mind might choose to lock away.

“We met at a birthday party,” he said, looking over at her as he tried to force a smile. “It was a long time ago.”


End file.
